Swing and Sway
by My Only Carriage
Summary: LL - the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. No angst, no tears here. And no spoilers.


**Disclaimer:** Still don't own them. And it's still tax season.

**Warning:** Pure fluff ahead. I've written quite a few angsty stories and I wanted to write something light and happy, about two people who got lucky and found each other. Call it my post-Valentine's nostalgia.

**Thank You:** To all who have read and commented and e-mailed me.

* * *

"Now Luke, I know how you hate parties." 

He looks at her wearily from behind the counter, certain she's about to try roping him into a town event. Clearly, it's an event so tacky that Lorelai knows full well he'd say no, so she's sent Sookie instead, thinking he can't turn down a very pregnant woman who could burst into tears at any moment.

"I thought only women went to those baby shower things."

"They do. You're not invited."

"Thanks." He says dryly.

"Did you want to come?"

"Absolutely not."

"Perfect."

"Then what do you need, Sookie?"

"It's Lorelai's birthday on Saturday."

Of course he knows it's on Saturday. He bought her a tentative gift a month ago. Then he went and got her something else last week, because he wasn't sure of how appropriate the first thing was. It didn't feel like a birthday gift, and since it was also something of a first for them, he felt like he had to make an effort to have a proper present ready.

He had both of them up at his apartment, among a pile of his dad's old things that he knew she wouldn't touch. And he'd sit there on his lunch hour, debating whether the tentative gift was better than the designated gift, going back and forth on it depending on his mood and what kind of smile she'd leave him with in the morning.

"You want to have a party?"

"It's also a year since we opened the Dragonfly. I thought we could have a big party and it so happens it's her birthday also. She's done a lot for a lot of people, held us together, kept us sane. A thank you would be nice."

He's tempted to say no, that the two of them already have plans, but he knows Lorelai would love this and anything she loves, he has to love by default. The idea he has to share her with a crowd is as unappetizing as the donuts on his counter, but he's not a man who has the heart to say no to something that would make her happy.

"You don't need my permission, Sookie."

"I need you to distract her that day so we can set some things up?"

"I think I can manage that."

"So I hear." She giggles and his face flushes, all the way to the tips of his ears.

* * *

"What do you want me to do with the potatoes?" 

Her brow wrinkles in thought, although she doesn't lift her head to look up from the sheets of office paper she is sorting.

"Hmmm, I think we're out of tater tots. Crinkled cut?"

"That's not a food I know."

"Right side of the shelf in the freezer. Pretty red bag. Cut the corner, follow the instructions. If you put some foil on the baking sheet, we won't have to wash it afterwards."

He stares at her like she's an alien from outer space, who just sprung a second head, and she still doesn't look up, but he can see the corners of her mouth turning up in a tiny smile and he knows she's amused and proud to have annoyed his culinary sensibilities once again.

"Lorelai, I said potatoes."

"Yeah…"

He opens one of her cabinets, the bottom one next to the fridge and pulls out different types of potatoes. She marvels at how he can fit three large ones in one hand, safely cocooning his fingers around them. Then she remembers how those hands worshipped her burning skin last night and is no longer surprised at their ability to multitask so well.

"_These_ are potatoes," he tells her, then tosses the bag of frozen, cut fries on the table, "and these are anything but."

She takes the large, brown potato from him, but then dumps it unceremoniously back into his hand when she realizes how dusty it is.

"But it's dirty. And you have to wash it. And then you have to peel it. And then you have to cut it up. That's a process, Luke."

"Lucky for you, I'll be enjoying the process by myself."

"I'll have a front row seat for it. Which means I'll have to watch you. And think about what a waste of time it is and how we could be more productive doing other things."

"Like laundry?" He guesses dryly.

"The laundry machine did cross my mind."

He glances at her sideways and sees the playfulness in her eyes and decides right then that it makes very little sense, if any, for the washer to be outside. Where it was cold. And rainy. And in full view of the neighbors.

"So, the potatoes?"

"Fries."

"What's your choice number two?"

"Don't have one."

"Please don't make me eat fries. Or look at them. Do you have any idea how many fries I see every day? I go to sleep, I close my eyes – fries."

"Aw, baby, you should tell me when you have a nightmare." She teases him in her Mommy voice.

He points at the potatoes instead of humoring her banter.

"They're not getting any younger."

"Fine, mashed."

She watches him nod, as enthusiastically as Luke is ever seen to nod during a situation not involving her black dress.

"You okay with garlic mashed?"

"Only if you leave the skin in, like last time."

"Red potatoes it is." He concludes and grabs the bag of them, emptying out a couple of handfuls.

"How come?"

"I always use red or white to make mashed potatoes. Since we don't have white, and you liked the pink skins, probably for the color and not the taste, we'll go with those."

"That one is bigger." She points to the long potato she dropped earlier.

"That's a Russet. It's a baking potato."

"Oooh, with butter and sour cream!"

"That'll take an hour or more."

"Or six minutes in the microwave." She challenges him.

"And 6 weeks of chemotherapy to follow."

"Don't listen to him; he's being a grumpy old man." She coos at the potato in question.

He rolls his eyes, as has become routine business in her kitchen in the late evenings.

"Russet are for baking, red and white are for boiling and the yellow one is Yukon Gold. It tastes a bit sweeter, it cooks or fries up softer on the inside, which is why they're your favorite fries, as evidenced by the look of pure bliss on your face when you bite into one, even when it's without the accompaniment of any kind of condiment."

Her shoulders drop and she cocks her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest and looks at him in utter amazement.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"You? Are hot. Do you have any idea how hot you are to me right now?"

"Ah, okay, good. Good."

She loves how flustered he is, waving the potato peeler in the air wildly while his eyes appraise her face.

"Very good." She agrees.

"Remember that later?"

"Will do. You should have told me your potato seduction story long ago."

"It's _not_ a seduction story." He replies dryly, back to his old mock annoyance with her.

"Oh, it is from where I'm sitting. People bottle up their passion in all kinds of ways. With you? It's starchy vegetables. It's so well hidden that it's almost genius, and tonight it bubbled over and was shared with the world."

"The world would consist of only you?" He guesses.

"It's a grand world, and it approves of your seduction techniques."

He can't help but smile at her silliness and her childlike joy, even after a day when she worked 3 hours overtime and had only half her usual intake of coffee because there was no time to get away on break.

"I know you're tired, so I'll be nice to you tonight."

She smiles back, because she knows he's nice to her on any given night, but his sweetness is endearing nonetheless.

"Thank you."

"It'll get better when Sookie is back."

She sighs, stacking her papers in a haphazard pile, declaring her working day finally over.

"Won't be for a few months yet. I can't believe she hasn't popped open yet."

"Is she still doing it at home?" Luke asks, and his face betrays his feelings.

"That's the plan."

"It's weird, is what it is." He tells her while he stands by the stove waiting for the water to boil.

"Women did it for thousands of years."

"Yes, before they had hospitals and pasteurization."

"I can't believe I'd hear you advocating a hospital visit."

"I can't believe anyone in their right mind would be fine with this." He shoots back.

"Luke, come on. She'll get somebody licensed. And they can always go to the hospital if something goes wrong."

"Waste of time. If you were there in the first place, you'd be better off. It's like driving a stick shift – you have a small window of opportunity and if you don't release your clutch then, you'll stall."

She can't help but laugh at him. "That's possibly the most interesting view of childbirth I've ever heard."

"I was talking about medical intervention." He tells her.

"Same difference."

She can hear the water beginning to boil and he carefully drops the potatoes into the large pot without splashing, then turns back to her.

"Well, would you do it that way?"

"In this house?" She asks incredulously. "Honey, take a look around, a child would be colonized by dust mites in 2 seconds flat."

He throws her a look that she recognizes. It's the same one when he's trying to have a serious conversation or convey something of importance to her and instead she's dropping pop culture references or making dirty jokes.

"I don't know." She finally admits. "I can't say I've ever thought about it."

"Okay."

He seems satisfied with her answer, which is where she would usually leave things, but this reeks to her of an unfinished conversation, and as somebody who will be a whole 37 years old in just two days, she feels like she should start finishing things. For example, the closet upstairs she's been trying to clean so that he can have a couple of hangers' worth of clothing in there. Or the Ian McEwen book Rory gave her a few weeks ago to read and she was stalled at page 64. Or the idea that Luke has actually sat down and gave apparently a good amount of thought to the process of childbirth.

"Have you? Thought about it?" She asks him quietly.

"Well, because of Sookie…" He trails off, sensing it won't do, so he sits on the chair across from her.

"And you hate it?"

"I hate it." He confirms without hesitation.

"Because…"

He looks at her like she's crazy, and he knows it's probably the same way she looked at him last year on the porch of her Inn when he started rambling about Jason and flowers and self-improvement books.

"Seriously, Lorelai?"

"Most seriously, Luke."

"I would be out of my mind."

"Okay."

"I hate hospitals, you know that. But I'd be crazy with worry for you. Out of my mind crazy, you know that. So I hate hospitals, but they have people with degrees. Preferably from Harvard."

"Don't let Rory hear you say that." She says jokingly, because she doesn't know how else to react on the spot.

"I read Newsweek's rankings."

He's a mystery to her, she wants to tell him. But a nice one, with layers. Like a cake, not an onion.

"It's no big deal, Lorelai."

She can tell he's embarrassed now and she doesn't want to make it worse.

"But it is."

"Why? Because I mentioned you? What did you think, that I would have considered this hypothetical scenario with some other woman? Maybe random stranger number 1?"

"No, I guess not." She says softly and is surprised by how flattered the idea makes her. She's flattered he'd have thought about it at all. She's flattered he'd admit it outloud to her. She's flattered that he has such a long history of putting her first and thinking about her first.

"Thank you." She tells him, because she's flattered, even if he doesn't know that specifically.

"For?"

"The potatoes and the hypothetical scenario. I love you."

"For that?"

"For everything."

"Oh, well, you're welcome." He smiles and goes back to taking care of the dinner, while she sits in her chair for a long time, letting herself absorb the moment.

She doesn't know that he's not concentrating on the chicken strips in the Teflon pan of the way the onions have started to caramelize and stick to the no-stick bottom. She has no idea his mind is on the gifts he's got picked out for her, and that there is not a shred of doubt in his mind that you should always go with your first instinct. That's why he's going to get up early tomorrow morning, run over to his place before it opens, and make sure he hides the gift better, even if he knows she won't look in his father's things. He just has to be absolutely sure.

He turns around and looks at her eyes, still bright behind the glasses she's wearing and it makes him lower his head and smile to himself.

"What?" She asks softly, self-conscious about the way he was looking at her.

"You look nice."

* * *

The Inn is full of people and Lorelai's never been more glad she had her hair done this morning, and she chose this dress that always looks good on film. She turns around to a grinning, proud Luke, and he quickly tells her none of this was his doing, but that he'd like her to have the best birthday possible. 

"We can get a room and stay the night." She whispers so quietly in his ear when he gives her the first hug of the night.

"I'd love to take you home after it's all done." He whispers as quietly.

"No objections here."

He kisses her lightly and tugs on her hand, entering the dining room.

"I love you. You look beautiful. Go mingle."

She squeals as Rory runs into her arms and points to a table full of shiny, wrapped gifts, many of them in gift wrap more appropriate for a little girl, but that's why she loves this town and the people in it.

"Did you pre-screen Miss Patti's gift?"

"Chocolates in a variety of dirty shapes and a pair of bikini briefs that say "Te Quiero" on them."

"Tell me they've got the Taco Bell dog on them."

"On the butt."

"Awesome."

"I thought you'd like that."

"I'm glad you could make it, kid."

Rory laughs at the appreciation in her mother's voice.

"Like I wouldn't come."

"I don't know, it's a big world out there, things to do, people to see, stories to write."

"Not tonight."

"That's why you're my favorite daughter. That I know of."

"I met three at Yale last week."

"Good to know they all got into a great school. Some genes, I tell ya."

Lorelai smiles at her daughter, who isn't her little kid anymore, but isn't a grown woman either, because she'll always stay something in between. An undefined age and state of mind that only Lorelai can identify, but not put into words for other people.

She goes to mingle then, and to thank people for coming and bringing her the best novelty gifts they could find in the state of Connecticut. As she does so, she notices Luke hanging out on the periphery, his eyes always on her, proud, in love. She seeks him out a couple of times, needing to reconnect with him physically, to feel his hand on her lower back or his body heat radiating against her cheek. For the most part, he hangs back, chats to Rory in a quiet corner, and lets Lorelai shine. She could always set the room alight, and tonight is no different.

When Sookie brings the cake out, Lorelai thanks her again, before chiding her for putting every one of the 37 candles on top of it.

"It's like a battalion!" She complains to Luke, who faithfully stands beside her.

"All good?" He asks, pointing down at them.

"Most." She tells him. "The last one is pretty great."

The tiny lights twinkle on top of the thin, pink, braided white sticks, swaying slightly to an imaginary swing tune as she leans over them and creates a gentle draft. She turns back to Luke and he immediately gathers her loose hair, holding it over her neck so that no strand and no hair ever come near even the smallest flame. She grins at the kindness of her lover, and turns back, blowing out all the candles in a breath and a half.

"I blew that one out last." She tells him when she's standing up straight again and he's let her loose curls cascade back around her face.

* * *

When she was getting ready to go home, the party was still in full swing, but she had only 40 minutes before midnight and her greed dictated she should have Luke to herself. 

He surprised her tonight, the way he was a silent presence all evening, but without hating the idea of spending it with Kirk and Taylor and a number of Inn employees whose names he could barely remember. His eyes sparkled when she'd catch up to him, kiss his cheek, and regroup for her next mingling session. He soothed her, and waited for her to return to him.

"We can pick up the gifts tomorrow." She tells him when he starts gathering the bags and boxes.

"Sure?"

She laughs, pulling some items out of the bags and holding them out in front of him.

"Nobody but me, and maybe Rory, will want any of those things. And she's off to Lane's for the night. They couldn't be safer in Fort Knox."

"Sadly, that's probably true."

"Although, I did notice one was conspicuously absent."

"Oh?"

"Unless, of course, that person _forgot_ this joyous occasion."

"I suppose that's possible." He agrees.

"Then again, he did make me go shopping for boat supplies this afternoon to distract me so I wouldn't crash my own party."

"That's just plain devious."

She winks at him. "He can be that way, when he wants to."

"He sounds like a real piece of work."

"Yeah, but I kind of like him."

He turns her around until she's tightly tucked into his arms and kisses her cheek, reserving anything more for a private moment.

"Wanna blow this joint?" She asks him and gets a happy nod in return.

She's holding his hand after they've said their goodbyes and he's assured her he doesn't really want to stay the night, especially when most of the town gossips would be just one floor below, drinking themselves silly until the wee hours of morning.

"You want to walk home?" He asks her and she raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"Really?"

"It just seems like the night for it."

"Warm?"

"Yes."

"Romantic?"

"You might say so."

"Sexy?" She asks him demurely as they round the corner towards the town square.

"Mmmmm, ask me a bit later."

They walk together in a companionable silence, swaying their joined hands between them, through the town square, past the diner, in the direction of her house.

"So, did you get me a gift, Luke?"

"I did."

"It's at home?" She guesses.

"Yes. Let's hope so." He smiles crookedly.

"Oh, it's _that_ kind of gift. Gotcha." She winks.

"Lorelai…"

"You think I won't like it?"

"No, I don't know. I think you might."

"Did you make dirty pasta sauce for the dirty pasta?" She guesses.

"What the hell is dirty pasta sauce?"

"I don't know, but I was hoping to find out."

"You'll be hoping for a while then."

"You just broke my heart."

"I'm a real piece of work." He sighs as they turn another corner and he can make out Babette's property from here.

He makes the mistake of extricating his hand from hers, pretending he needs to stretch out his arms, but she shoots him a funny look anyway. It's just that he's getting fidgety now, and he can see the lights out of the corner of his eyes and he thanks God that Lane has a big, burly boyfriend who can be useful when moving wooden pieces of lawn furniture about, into just the right spot that he had algebraically determined the week before. Where they stood once before.

He'd picked out a string of Christmas lights until Rory pointed out that it's really tacky unless they're clear, so he was back in that awful year-round Christmas store off the highway, where the plump old lady owner took 45 minutes pulling a second string out of storage for him.

"What…." Lorelai asks, when she sees the chuppah aglow. She then moves closer to it and Luke does what he's done all night long, hangs back, his hands in his pockets, taking the scene and her in.

She approaches it slowly, raising her slim hand with her perfectly manicured nails up, fingering the shiny rings of metal hanging on pieces of thin, satin ribbon. They are bunched in the middle, hanging off the arch portion of the chuppah, from the ends of ribbons of different sizes. The longest one catches her eye first, although she quickly recognizes what the other two are.

She whips her head and body around and finds Luke right behind her.

"Luke?"

"Do you remember how when I started staying here, you had a hard time getting used to my alarm going off so early every day, even on the weekends?"

She nods wordlessly, thankful for the current of words spilling out of his mouth, because she knows very well what this is about and how the evening will end and the only thing that's keeping her eyes dry right now is the fact she has to concentrate on what he is saying.

"I was at Liz's one day and she was making some wind chimes for the Renn Faire. And I thought, maybe Lorelai would like them outside her window and I'm a light sleeper, I could use that instead of the alarm. I have an internal body clock anyway. And she drew me a design. And it had these metal rings on the bottom, copper and steel, and it stayed with me."

She looks at him, incredulous at this man and this moment. He shrugs, still looking sheepish and shy.

"That's what inspired me to ask you this way."

He walks over until he's standing under the chuppah with her, and pushes the rings with his index finger until they are swinging, clashing against one another.

"I'm in love with you. And I will be forever. You're wonderful and a hundred other words that a man like me hasn't had an occasion to use before. And if you feel the same way, and if you'll have me for that long, then this one," he points to the one with the solitaire diamond on it, "is for you right now."

"And the other two?"

"Are a joint gift for the both of us."

She pushes the rings with her index finger, just like he had done, and they dance in mid-air between them, then looks up at him.

"Marry me, Lorelai?"

She holds out the palm of her hand, flat, open up and facing the sky, and lets it hover just beneath the one ring she wants desperately around her finger. She touches it with her hand until it stills, while the other two are still swinging about. Her hands are shaky when she undoes the knot, and hands the ring to him, then stretches her finger out so he can be old-fashioned and slip it on himself.

"Yes."


End file.
